


Clean Our Wounds with Bloody Rags and Whiskey

by cursedtrees



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alcohol, Bisexuality, Cigarettes, Eyes, F/F, F/M, Fear, Horror, I just love him too much, Jane Prentiss - Freeform, M/M, Multi, Other, POV Multiple, Psychological Horror, The Mechanisms - Freeform, Themes of Horror, Trans Male Character, Trans Martin Blackwood, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, bi tim stoker, do the entities count as characters, eventually, i love tim stoker, jonny d'ville will be here probably, kiss emoji, lots of references, pansexuality, the mechanisms references, you'll have to pry that from my cold dead hands
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:00:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23082874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cursedtrees/pseuds/cursedtrees
Summary: The Magnus Institute has always been a source of corruption. Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood, and whoever (whatever?) replaced Sasha James try to keep their jobs as normal as they were before. As always, Jonathan Sims is making that hard. As always, Elias Bouchard is no help.(gifted to rainy bc they got me into the mechs/tma)
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Probably more later - Relationship, worm/worm
Comments: 3
Kudos: 32





	Clean Our Wounds with Bloody Rags and Whiskey

Tim didn't know why he was doing this. He was pissed at Jon; had been since Prentiss, really. Really, who fucking stalks their employee's house? He needed this job, though. Even if he didn't really know why. 

Here he was, though, sitting at a bar, waiting for some shitty police officer to show up. Jon knew Basira well enough; why did Tim have to be here? A free drink? Some flirting practice? Either way, he's shocked back into the present by a whiskey being slid down the bar in his direction. Smooth. He stops it with an open hand, seeing a man sit next to him. 

The man is tall with brown hair so close to red that Tim would bet money that he dyed it. His eyes were the same color as the whiskey and his skin matched the red oak of the bar. Overall, the man had a red hue to him. It was disconcerting, really. 

"Whiskey at a gin joint? Interesting choice." Tim smiled as he said this, pushing his feelings to the side. He dips his pinky finger in the drink casually, his black nail polish not changing color. Not drugged. Cool. The other man just looks slightly confused. Tim shrugs and waves over the bartender, ordering a gin for the other man. "This is Calypso's, buddy. World-famous homemade gin?" The man looks lost, so he drops it. Instead, Tim holds out his hand. "Tim. Lovely to meet you."

"You as well. Officer Richard Patterson, but friends call me Dick." The man said as he shakes Tim's hand, the face gaining a name. Tim couldn't help but laugh at the nickname. 

"What about people who are.. more than friends?" Tim tries, watching carefully for Dick’s reaction. His skin reddened and, for a moment, fear was stricken into Tim’s heart. He’d faced things scarier than a police officer, but that was because it wasn’t something the Chelsea police could get away with. He’s used to seeing red on a police officer’s face when they’re pissed and Tim should be scared. Being a person of color (as well as definitely not straight), he was always looking over his shoulder. The monsters were easier to identify and feel more prepared around than the police. When he let Basira into the institute one day, he was hesitant to do much more than say hello to her.

The red on Dick’s face wasn’t anger, though; it was a blush. “You can call me after this, then.” Dick says, grabbing a notepad from his pocket as well as a pen. He scribbles down his number and hands the slip to Tim. Both men took a long sip of their drinks afterwards -- Tim wants the alcohol in his system, Dick is a police officer. Tim put the glass down and folded up the note, pocketing it. His thumb brushes against the pocket knife he kept on him. He didn’t want it at first but it was a gift from Martin. How could he say no to Martin fucking Blackwood, of all people? Now, he was thankful for the reassurance of a weapon.

“You said you knew Alphie, right?” Dick asks, and Tim’s caught a bit off-guard by this. He wanted information on her, but it wasn’t usually brought up this early in the flirting process. He nods, recalling his lie.

“Yeah, she was my sister’s best friend.” Tim pauses, then adds on. “Or… is still, I guess?”

Dick waves it off. “You can say was. Missing people don’t usually show back up. If they do, they’re not the same person.” Tim just nods. That he knew.

“Alfie was your…?” Tim trails off, letting Dick pick up the end of the sentence.

“Partner.” By now, Dick’s drink has been finished. He waves down the bartender and orders a bottle of Corona Lite. Tim almost sneers. Gross. “We would ride on patrol together. She was better at making reports and I was better at actually paying attention to the road. We were never put on any cases, really; we were good at patrolling, so the ‘igher-ups never felt like we had to be moved to anything else.”

Tim puts on an expression of empathy. “What was the last patrol you guys did together?” He asks, daring to reach out and rest his hand on Dick’s hand in a motion of comfort. “I mean, if you’re comfortable sharing.”

Dick nods, thanking the bartender when she brought over his beer. Her name was Callie, but he’d never care enough to know that. Tim was good friends with her and she knew better to interrupt when he was working. 

“It was.. Three months from tomorrow, I think.” Dick recalls. “We were patrolling on Durham Place since there had been quite a few bike sharing robberies. A girl dressed in all purple had walked up to the bikes holding a bag from Belpahari down the street. It would be a normal sight if it wasn’t one in the morning and she wasn’t in snow boots in the middle of fall.” Dick laughs lightly. “Alfie joked with me as we watched, saying that she wishes she had the balls to dress like that.” Tim laughs as well, sneaking a glance down to his watch. 5:30. Fuck, he promised Jon he’d have this done by 7 today. The last thing he needed was Jon on his ass again. 

“And then she got out of the car,” Dick continues, not noticing Tim’s hesitation. “She walked over to her; much more casual than I would’ve, but that’s why everyone trusted her to do this kind o’ work. When she got up to the purple woman, though…” Dick sighs. “She just kept walking straight past her. Didn’t stop. I drove after her for a mile, but she walked into a house that I knew wasn’t hers. I wasn’t ‘bout to risk my job for something that simple, I thought. I was sure it was just something normal I didn’t hav’ta worry about.”

Tim knew the rest of the story from here from Dick’s statement. He looks over to Callie as she glances over to check on them and she gets the hint.

“Timothy Stoker!” A sharp cry comes from behind the bar and he jumps. He knew it was Callie, but it was scary every time. “Get your ass over here before I fucking kill you.” The bar was mostly empty other than the three of them, so she could be as overdramatic as she wanted. Dick certainly looked taken aback. 

Scrambling out of his seat, Tim apologizes for the mess and throws a twenty down on the bar. Callie comes out and grabs Tim’s shoulder, throwing him out of the bar. 

Tim takes out the paper with the phone number on it, rips it up and throws it out, lights a cigarette, and walks back to the institute.


End file.
